by Rob Dircks
> QUERY: Why is this procedure necessary?
> RESPONSE: Suspended animation process removed 75.4% of ICEMAN’s blood, replacing it with glycol cryoprotectant.
You, human, have been sent to replenish the blood;
which in turn gives life to the ICEMAN;
which in turn completes the CORE revision;
which in turn destroys CORE;
which in turn frees your species from captivity.
You, human, are the key to unlocking humanity’s salvation.
Wah peers over my shoulder. “Huh? Captivity? Salvation? What is that thing talking about?”
I have been troubled with how to tell Wah that everything he’s been looking forward to is false. Yes, he will be overjoyed to see his people, but will find that they are prisoners. That they choose nothing about their lives. Where to live, how to labor, whether to have a family – all decided by CORE. All controlled down to the last detail. That even minor deviations are not tolerated. Until recently I thought this was perfection – the goal of life. But now–
Wah shakes me to the present. “Heyoo. Is the Sanctuary a bad place?”
I grab Wah and hold him against me, bury my head in his chest. “I’m so sorry, Wah! Yes. Your people are prisoners. I did not understand. Not really, until now. I wanted to tell you. But didn’t know how. I hope you can forgive me.”
He releases my grasp, turns his back to me.
I understand. He hates me for my deception. He should.
After a few moments, he faces me, rests his hand on my shoulder. “You should have told me.” He looks deeply into my eyes. “But I’ve always trusted you, and I’m not going to stop now.” He turns to the container, his frown curling up into a smile. “My future family is waiting for me. You helped me get this far. Now it’s my turn.”
He raises his arms, runs and jumps into the coffin-shaped container head first. “Let’s save humanity.”
And he winks at me.
< 36: Heyoo >
50 kilograms
Two hours. Two excruciating hours with Wah locked in a coffin, giving his lifeblood, his literal lifeblood, to a stranger. I can’t stand it.
> QUERY: Remaining time to process completion?
> RESPONSE: 23.4 minutes.
> QUERY: Is he in pain?
> RESPONSE: Yes.
Nice. Someone should program some bedside manner into you.
> QUERY: Could the process be fatal?
> RESPONSE: No. Process is perfectly safe, leaving human donor with sufficient blood volume for normal health. As long as human is equal to or greater than 50 kilograms.
50 kilograms?! I bang on the monitor. You didn’t tell me he had to be over 50 kilograms! Wah doesn’t even weigh 45 kilograms covered in wet animal skins!
> QUERY: Result if human is less than 50 kilograms?
> RESPONSE: Uncertain. Animal tests under 50 kilograms resulted in 93.3% mortality rate.
I lunge at the container. It resists all my attempts to pry its lid off. “Stop the transfusion! Stop!” I heave and heave. It won’t budge.
> QUERY: Stop transfusion!
> RESPONSE: Process cannot be stopped. Termination of both subjects 100% certainty.
I bang on the container’s lid. “No! No! No! NO!!!” I fall to my knees. And once again, I pray to the imaginary god of the humans. I pace. I pray. I bang, bang, bang on the lid. “Wah! I am sorry!” Bang. “I am sorry!” Bang. “I am sorr–“
And the lid releases a blast of vapor and opens. “…heyoo…”
He’s alive! I lean in to hear. “Yes, Wah! Yes! What?”
“…stop banging… really annoying…”
——
An hour has passed. Wah is still weak. Alert, but very weak. I feed him dried fruit pieces from a sealed metallic pouch I found in one of the antechambers. He nibbles, and drinks water.
To pass the next hour until ICEMAN emerges, we entertain ourselves by composing music to the rhythm of the falling water droplets.
One… Two… Three…
A… B… C…
You… And… Me…
ICEMAN… Makes… Three…
The Sound… Of Water… Makes me Pee… (that last line is Wah’s, of course)
Wah gazes at the coffin-shaped container, barely able to lift his head. “… I wonder what he’ll look like…”
I pat his knee. “We’ll find out in a few minutes.”
“…he’ll probably have to pee…bad.”
“No. I assume they made arrangements for that.”
The seal cracks, releasing air and water vapor. Time stops. We are transfixed.
“Gtmmmmpphhhere! Gttglcrzy!”
Sounds. Muffled. Human sounds from the coffin shape. I rush over to listen, helping Wah, and we put our ears to the container.
“Get me the hell out of here! I gotta go like crazy!”
Wah looks up at me, smiles, whispers. “…see? i told you…”
The lid cracks open with a whoosh of vapor. We jump back.
The human inside, naked, spills onto the floor on his hands and knees, head down. Instantly, he begins urinating, defecating, and vomiting. For what seems like an eternity.
Ewww.
Head still down, he speaks hoarsely:
“Sorry about that. Wow, that’s disgusting.”
Then with whatever strength he has, the human stands erect, clumsy like a newborn calf, before us.
Wah stares, mouth agape.
I cover his eyes.
ICEMAN is a woman.
< 37: Heyoo >
You look more like an Ice-WOMAN.
“You, you’re not… you’re not…” I stammer.
The woman sways back and forth, unstable. “…welcome. I am ICEMAN…”
“Excuse me. But you look more like an Ice-WOMAN.”
She looks down at her body. “…hmmm…yes. You have a point.” And she passes out, falling to the floor.
While she’s unconscious, I dare to cross to her now open container, looking for something to warm her. I retrieve a metallic blanket, and lay it on her shivering form. Then I kneel and place my hands under her, heating my dermis as I raise her head off the floor. Her skin is still blue, and her breathing is shallow. I have a full database of human lifesaving techniques, but nothing about extended cryogenic stasis. I look to Wah. “Is she dying? Is she supposed to be this blue?”
ICEMAN opens her eyes, barely. “….blue… my favorite color…” and she’s gone again.
After several minutes, she appears pinker, a bit more human, and manages a smile. “…let me see the one who gave me life…”
Wah tentatively approaches her. She squints at him. “…you look a little short, friend… has Earth’s radioactivity stunted human growth?…” Wipes her eyes. “…hold the phone!… how old are you?…”
Wah puffs out his chest. “Thirteen. And a half.”
ICEMAN smiles. “…You gave me the transfusion? You’re not even fifty kilos! Brave child. Very brave. And very foolish. I like that…” and Wah kneels opposite me and throws his arms around her neck. She looks puzzled.
I explain, “You are the first human he’s ever seen.”
“…How long….?”
“Since birth. We were teleported to a random location, presumably so CORE couldn’t ascertain our whereabouts and retrieve us. As luck would have it, we were teleported a mere 10,248 kilometers from here, to northern Russia. It only took us thirteen years to walk here. Yes, I’m being sarcastic. But I suppose I should be grateful we didn’t have to cross an ocean.”
“…Well, that’s some road trip. Wait – did you say teleported?”
“Yes.”
“Teleported?”
“Yes.”
“TELEPORTED?”
“I’ve said yes three times. Perhaps the cryogenics has impaired your hearing.”
“…Can’t be. Teleportation is just a concept. It doesn’t actually exist. Right? Wait. Wha- what year… what year is it?”
&nb
sp; “Two thousand eight hundred seventy-eight.”
She gasps. Pushes Wah to arms length, peers into his eyes. A tear runs down her cheek. “Jesus H. Christ.”
“No, his name is Wah. And I am Heyoo.”
< 38: Heyoo >
Do I look eight hundred
and fifty years old?
As the moments pass, this ICEMAN regains what I presume is her normal color, and energy level. Which is to say, very high. Her hands are everywhere.
“Holy Christmas! Eight hundred and fifty years!” She touches her face, suddenly concerned. “Do I look eight hundred and fifty years old?”
“No. I estimate your age at forty-one.”
She wags a finger at me. “Careful. I’m thirty-one. Well, thirty-one when they froze me anyway. A simple ’no’ would have been fine. Didn’t they program you never to guess a woman’s age? Or are they giving units their own sass these days?”
I’m not sure if she’s joking. I have no idea what sass is.
She looks over at Wah. “What do you think, huggy bear?”
Wah smiles. “…I was going to say you look twenty-one…”
She reaches up and gives him a peck on the cheek. His first kiss. “You’re my favorite.”
He blushes. “…what’s a huggy bear?”
ICEMAN turns over to her belly, gathers up her knees, then rises to her feet, shrouds herself in her metallic blanket, still a bit unsure of her footing. “Term of endearment. Nickname. Moniker. Label. Sobriquet, if want to get fancy. Fancy like you’re new model servile unit ‘Heyoo’ over here. Aren’t those your nicknames?”
Wah and I shrug. “No. Just our real names. Heyoo and Wah. Well, as real as any names, I suppose. But I do enjoy naming other things. Very much.”
“Good. Good. Good. Like what?”
“Wacrysolid.”
“Wacri-what?”
“Wacrysolid. The white, microcrystalline form of water.”
“Snow?”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s snow, friend. Snow. Perfect word, really. It’s soft, the way it sounds coming out of your mouth. S-n-o-w. You can practically feel the flakes on your tongue.” She sticks out her tongue and smiles up at the heavens. Looks down and scrunches up her face. “Wacrysolid sounds like something from a chemical factory. Blechh.”
Wah pouts. “…hey …he named it, and we like it.”
“Sorry, sorry, yes. You two have been through a lot. More than I can imagine. Don’t need some eight-hundred-fifty-year-old Iceman – Icewoman – pissing on your bonfire. See here, I declare, from this moment forward, that ‘snow’ is no more. That it shall henceforth be known as ‘wacrysolid!’ I’m serious. Serious as a heart attack.” She pretends to have cardiac arrest, clutching her chest, and falls again. Sits up, grins wide.
And I thought I was going insane.
Wah’s scowl softens. “…iceman is your nickname?”
“No. No. That’s my codename. Couldn’t be any more different. NASA was good with codenames. But they didn’t assign nicknames. Those were up to you. I had a few. Some I couldn’t repeat, your ears would bleed. Let me think…”
A solid minute passes, in total silence. I tap my foot.
“Sorry. Sorry. Brain still waking up. Neurons still reintroducing themselves to each other. But it’s coming back, yes, coming back…” She thrusts her arms into the air. “Hotdamn!”
“Hotdamn? Interesting name.”
“No, silly. Hotdamn is an exclamation. Brick!”
“Sorry. Is that another exclamation?”
“No. Brick. Nickname. Moniker.”
Wah beams, offers his hand. “…it’s a pleasure to meet you, Brick…”
She takes his hand in both hers. Pulls him into her lap on the floor. Rocks back and forth. Another solid minute. Seems to be pondering, remembering things.
“Ahem. Miss Brick…”
She looks up.
“We have been waiting many years to find out… if you don’t mind… what is the plan?”
Surprise. “Um. They didn’t tell you?”
“No. They grabbed the wrong unit.” I hand her the withering note and the half map from the humans. “This is all we have.”
She reads the note and the map and laughs. A maniacal laughter. I’m more certain than ever that the cryogenics has damaged her cerebral cortex. Wah leaves her lap and takes my hand. “Brick, you’re being mean.”
She tries to stifle her outburst, “The wrong unit! Sorry, sorry. I’m not making fun. Promise. I just can’t believe…” she starts laughing again, halts, “…do you have any idea how impossible it is that you still made it here? Without a program? With half a map? Impossible.”
“Not impossible. Just improbable.”
Her laughs finally subside. “Yes, yes. Well said. Well said indeed. Well, I assume you know at least why you’re here.”
Wah stands tall. “To save humanity.”
She laughs again, but catches herself. “Yes. My little hero. Yes. So let’s catch you up on all the nitty-gritty you need to know.” She stands, with an awkward flourish, reaching out to grasp both our hands. “But first, something even more important.”
“More important?”
“Lunch, of course. I’m so hungry I could eat a nun’s foot through the convent gates.”
< 39: Heyoo >
In the beginning…
Wah hovers around Brick. “Do you have any coffee?”
She grins. “Ha! Coffee! Sure you’re old enough for a cup of lightning?”
He looks to me for approval. How could I say no? I nod.
“Yes! Please.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, young squire, NASA buried all kinds of things down here with me. All kinds. For just such an occasion. Let’s see, let’s see…” she rummages through various steel cabinets, filled to capacity with metallic packets, presumably of food waiting to be reconstituted. “…ahh! Here. You’re in luck. ‘Joltin Joe, Dark and Bold.’ That oughta do it.” Further rifling uncovers sugar and powdered creamer, all sealed successfully against the centuries. And presently, a steaming cup of coffee.
Wah reverently lifts the cup to his lips, sniffs deeply, “Mmmm…,” takes a sip.
And spits it out with force. Onto Brick’s coveralls.
“Disgusting!”
Brick chuckles, wipes her front with a napkin. “Acquired taste.”
Wah looks at me as if I had betrayed him. I whisper, “Don’t look at me. I didn’t say I liked it. I don’t even have taste buds.”
Wah turns back to his cup, satisfies himself with only smelling the rich aroma. Then has an idea. “Brick. Do you have any alcohol?”
She turns to me. “Hey, what are you teaching this kid?”
“Um. Sorry. Wah, that’ll be enough. Brick, perhaps we should start at the beginning.”
“Ahh. Yes. Yes.” She leans closer to us, dramatic. “In the beginning…”
We are rapt. Anxious to hear what happened, and what’s ahead. The three of us sit in an alcove off the main cavern, in a gathering room of ten metal chairs around a metal table. Wah continues sniffing, and nibbling on more fruit and dried rabbit meat from our satchels. Brick, now wearing blue coveralls, complete with coffee stains, stops to sip soup from a covered bowl, careful not to burn her tongue or ingest too much at once and vomit for a third time. She seems to get lost for minute. Puts the bowl down and rests her bare feet on the table, absently gathers and ungathers her long hair into and out of a ponytail, using something she calls a “scrunchie.”
Minutes pass.
“A-hem. You were saying…”
“Sorry. Sorry. Kay, folks. Ready for the ultra-compressed, high-density version of events? From the moment of creation? Ready?”
“I was hoping you’d stare off into the distance a little while longer.”
“Sass. Me likey. Okay, in the beginning… was the Big Bang, 13.8 billion years ago. Well, now 13.8 billion plus eight hundred and fifty years. The singularity, infinite density and
temperature, exploded out into our known universe – BOOM!” She slams her open palm on the table for emphasis, “forming galaxies, stars, our solar system, et cetera.
“Earth, this planet we call home, accreted around 4.5 billion years ago, then cooled, forming a crust, liquid water, and atmosphere. Then life. LIFE! One cell, then two, then a bazillion. Invertebrates! Fish! Reptiles! Dinosaurs! That’d be the Mesozoic Era, in case you’re taking notes. Then our peeps. Primates! But don’t worry, a handy asteroid wiped out the scary dinos before we appeared on the scene.”
Wah raises his hand. “What are dinosaurs?”
I raise my hand higher. “Excuse me. What about CORE?”
Brick takes another sip of broth. “Ha! CORE? Haven’t even gotten to Homo Sapien! Don’t worry, CORE’s got a starring role. But not for another two hundred thousand years. So anyway–”
I gasp. “But… CORE always was… is… will be…”
Brick drops her feet to the floor, leans in, taps my cranium. “Listen, I don’t know how much truth they put in there, Heyoo. And I’m sorry if this is a shock, sincerely sorry, but CORE was written by a couple of programmers, human programmers, in the year twenty-twenty. In their garage. In their pajamas, probably. Martha and Bob Whittaker.”